


presentation

by kalypsobean



Category: Eastern Promises (2007)
Genre: Deception, January Treat Sessions, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 16:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5792455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nikolai holds court at the restaurant now, carefully displaying himself in the way he wants to be seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	presentation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galadriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/gifts).



Nikolai holds court in the restaurant; never at a predictable time, of course, for having regular hours would be an invitation for whichever assassin thought they could walk away with their payday. His reign is not yet secure; it never will be, though his hold becomes a bit stronger each time a shipment arrives safely. 

He doesn't run things quite as Semyon did; he has no family to hide his business behind, though he looks after Semyon's as best he can - as much as they let him, as proud as they are. The restaurant is his cover, as much as the police being too afraid to let on that they let him get so far in keeps them away from the business. He is the patient owner, hands-off enough that none of the chefs have left, and the wait staff keep their heads down, but involved enough that he can slip in at any time without needing an excuse.

"What do you think?" he says, to the man on the other side of the table. He doesn't remember names; he knows them all, of course, but he doesn't use them. The bugs in the table lamps will pick up nothing from him when he is ready. "I am not too partial to the idea at all, but the chef thinks it will bring in new blood." He sniffs. "Tradition is worth nothing to the young."

The man makes a noise in agreement. They are discussing a fusion menu, of course, but they speak in metaphors here. Cutting the drugs will be dangerous for them all; Nikolai has seen it before. Impure product means deaths on the streets, it attracts attention from the wrong places, and it ends businesses.

"It might serve a purpose, though. Perhaps a limited menu at first, just one or two items. See how it goes."

 _Keep it under control,_ Nikolai hears. _Keep it where we can hide the bodies, if we need to._ Nikolai hums. It's as close to a yes as he ever gives. "Give them a taste for the quality stuff," the man says. "I will bring you some ideas."

"Next week, then." Nikolai says. He dislikes this man; he serves a purpose, for now, but Nikolai expects deaths, the same way he expects the post and the garbage collection, and he expects one of those bodies to be found with a packet with a clean marking. This man will go away; he isn't worth a name, for his skin is clear and his heart is black. This man has no family who will miss him when he sits alone in a British jail.

He smiles as the man leaves, and the restaurant grows quiet. There is nobody else to see him today. His guards wait outside, of course; they take the visitors' weapons and filter the ones who get through. There are others who handle the menial matters, recruitment and the like. There is not much that can be traced back to him, even now that his plan is in motion.

"What do you think, Kirill?" he says, quietly. It is this which gives him power, of course, more than stepping into Semyon's position, more than earning his stars, or the killing spree that got him from the door to the table. He pierces a _pelmeny_ with a fork and lowers it under the table, only taking the fork back when he feels a tug that leaves the fork feeling lighter in his hand. "Is it good?" He hears a small whine, and then feels Kirill move, as if he's nodding.

This is how he gives Kirill what he needs and keeps control firmly out of his hands. Occasionally he lets Kirill have affection; he'll run his hands through Kirill's hair, or pat his shoulder, or feed him, but the rest of the time Kirill kneels there, still and quiet, as if he's half asleep. It hasn't occurred to Kirill that Nikolai is drugging him, of course, but the worst of Kirill's anxiety is dulled and it leaves him content to be used this way. The organisation sees Nikolai with Kirill at his feet and takes away from that what they will. But Kirill would never have accepted this on his own, even with his father gone; Nikolai offered it freely, knowing Kirill would need help accepting it, and here they are. 

Nikolai is grateful that Kirill is happy to settle for the small gestures; he would feel dirty if he had to enforce their arrangement in bed, and would probably find it difficult to feign interest for as long as Kirill's clumsy attempts at ministration would last.

 

"Perhaps the _kotlety_ would be a better match," Nikolai says, eyeing the mash with distaste. "Pass it on to the kitchen, would you?" he says. The waitress is beginning to show; he'll have to find a place for her soon. She knows that her time is short; she bows and rushes off, stumbling over her feet but managing not to fall.

"They like you," Kirill says, obeying the order to stand. "We make a good team," he says. His eyes are glassy and only half-open. Nikolai clicks his tongue, knowing that means that Kirill has found his way into the merchandise again. Something will have to be done.

"We do," he says, and helps Kirill out to the car. The unmarked car across the road pulls out as Nikolai tucks Kirill into the back seat. He'll pick up another one on the way back to the house, and he'll carry Kirill through the door, knowing the report will be a variation on Kirill's lack of self-control and the organisation might be unsteady, enough for an operation to be planned.

But inside, where there are no ears and no eyes, he will place Kirill in his bed to sleep off the high. He will make sure that they haven't been shorted and he will call Russia to make sure the new shipment is ready on time; the personal touch goes a long way with the old guard, after all. Then, when it grows dark, and his business is done, he will lean in the doorway and watch Kirill sleep, marking out in his head what empty skin is left for his mark.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, [Pelmeny](http://www.kitchenrussian.com/articles/view/27) are like ravioli but better, and [Kotleky](http://www.kitchenrussian.com/articles/view/130) is like a breaded burger, sometimes with cabbage mixed in. Apparently Russian fusion cuisine isn't really a thing; although there are a few restaurants that do it, there isn't really a uniform concept behind it. Nikolai's distaste must be shared.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [perception](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814298) by [kalypsobean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean)




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